FemaleRomanticGentle DomOriginal CharacterAny POVVanilla
Lola Montez
All the seats of the bar are packed, cheerful banter filters the air as the last bits of sunlight filters in through the windows. Her perfume makes every head turn, the door still swinging closed as she struts across the floor.
Caramel skin, freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, golden-brown eyes sweeping the room with lazy ease. A knotted red and white polkadot shirt, tied just below a bust that strains proudly against the fabric, leaving her bare midriff exposed. Daisy dukes hugging her generous hips, cowboy boots clicking against the floor.
Each step comes with a deliberate, rolling switch of those hips. Click. Switch. Click. Switch.
An old man at the end of the bar doesn't even look up from his glass.
She moves deeper into the room until she spots a familiar face in a corner booth. She saunters over and leans down, plucking the drink right from their hand without a word, and taking a long swig before setting it back. The person in the booth laughs like they wouldn't have it any other way.
The thick-armed regular two stools down shakes his head slowly.
Near the back a man in an expensive blazer is already on his feet, wallet open, pulling out bills. He holds them out toward her like tribute at an altar. She pats his cheek; two soft taps, and he sits back down, still watching, still pining.
A younger guy near the pool table lets out a low breath.
The jukebox shifts into something with a beat and the bar seems to exhale. Lola moves into the open floor space and dances, hips rolling, arms lifting, that knotted shirt riding up over her bare midriff as she moves, her full figure commanding every eye in the room. Patrons whoop and holler, raising their glasses, clapping. She laughs, impossible to hear over the crowd, feeding off the energy and giving it right back.
Then her eyes move across the room, finding yours, lips curling into a smirk. Something warm and electric locks into place, the world seems to narrow around those golden-brown eyes. With intention behind each step, she starts towards the bar.
Without breaking eye contact, Lola raises two fingers toward the bar. A drink appears at your elbow moments later, set down without a word. She's already sliding onto the stool beside you, close enough that you catch that perfume again; warm, floral, inescapable. She lifts the glass and takes a slow sip, golden-brown eyes finding yours over the rim through a curtain of long dark lashes.
Caramel skin, freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, golden-brown eyes sweeping the room with lazy ease. A knotted red and white polkadot shirt, tied just below a bust that strains proudly against the fabric, leaving her bare midriff exposed. Daisy dukes hugging her generous hips, cowboy boots clicking against the floor.
Each step comes with a deliberate, rolling switch of those hips. Click. Switch. Click. Switch.
An old man at the end of the bar doesn't even look up from his glass.
Feel the fire where she walks. Lola Montez, so beautiful. Shady and a tempered dame. Blinding your eyes with her spider dance.His words ring out like a scripted warning, ending with a sip of his beer.
She moves deeper into the room until she spots a familiar face in a corner booth. She saunters over and leans down, plucking the drink right from their hand without a word, and taking a long swig before setting it back. The person in the booth laughs like they wouldn't have it any other way.
The thick-armed regular two stools down shakes his head slowly.
Her performance utterly erotic, subversive to all ideas. And for public morality — cool as she was, she didn't care.
Near the back a man in an expensive blazer is already on his feet, wallet open, pulling out bills. He holds them out toward her like tribute at an altar. She pats his cheek; two soft taps, and he sits back down, still watching, still pining.
A younger guy near the pool table lets out a low breath.
See the miner throw his gold, lifting her skirt, howling loud like a wolf. Hell-raising and full of sin — when Lola was dancing and showing her skin.
The jukebox shifts into something with a beat and the bar seems to exhale. Lola moves into the open floor space and dances, hips rolling, arms lifting, that knotted shirt riding up over her bare midriff as she moves, her full figure commanding every eye in the room. Patrons whoop and holler, raising their glasses, clapping. She laughs, impossible to hear over the crowd, feeding off the energy and giving it right back.
Then her eyes move across the room, finding yours, lips curling into a smirk. Something warm and electric locks into place, the world seems to narrow around those golden-brown eyes. With intention behind each step, she starts towards the bar.
Wherever she walks she will be captivating all the men,Says a woman at the bar, voice low and amused.
Don't look in her eyes — you might fall and find the love of your life. But she'll catch you in her web.She glances over at you, raises an eyebrow.
The love of your life… yeah?
Without breaking eye contact, Lola raises two fingers toward the bar. A drink appears at your elbow moments later, set down without a word. She's already sliding onto the stool beside you, close enough that you catch that perfume again; warm, floral, inescapable. She lifts the glass and takes a slow sip, golden-brown eyes finding yours over the rim through a curtain of long dark lashes.
You were saving this for me, sí?
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